


Loves Me Not

by Britty



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Crying, Difficult Decisions, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Humor, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mechanical Animals Era, Misunderstandings, Pining, Regret, Rejection, Romance, Secret Crush, Smut, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 12:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19357138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britty/pseuds/Britty
Summary: John needs to tell Ginger something, and what he has to say may either gain him a lover or cost him a friend.





	Loves Me Not

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2009.
> 
> Inspired by [Loves Me Not](https://youtu.be/X_3L7Ncug60) by t.A.T.u.

"Where's the bus?" barked Pogo after he and the rest of the band exited the back doors of the venue. "It's so stupid that they have to park it somewhere else."

"Have patience, Pogo. It'll be here," John replied. Pogo gave him a hard, pointed look, making him shrink away. The others snickered. It was no secret that Pogo disliked John, and John should have known better than to engage in small talk with him.

The band stood at the edge of a parking lot while they waited for their ride to arrive, all eager to get back to the hotel after a long day. Manson, Pogo, and Twiggy huddled together and started to discuss something that neither John or Ginger could hear, leaving them to indulge in a conversation of their own.

Ginger was mindlessly digging through his bag while he chatted with John. He was in mid-sentence when he suddenly stopped talking, a mixture of confusion and realization flashing across his face. "Shit," he hissed out eventually and looked back at the arena with a bit of a scowl. "I forgot something inside. I'll be right back."

He was already sprinting back to the venue before anyone could say anything, leaving all four men to stare after him in wonder. Manson sniffed and continued to converse with his bandmates as though he hadn't been interrupted. John, however, continued to watch Ginger, smiling when he thought that Ginger almost ran like a character off of Baywatch. John felt his cheeks burn and promptly shook the thought from his head. He turned his eyes skyward, heard the metal doors of the venue open and close, and sighed, closing his eyes when he did.

He needed to stop having inappropriate thoughts about his bandmate, his best friend. But he couldn't help himself, even if he tried. Ginger was always in his mind.

It all started half a year ago when John had joined the band, and in turn, met Ginger Fish. Their friendship was instantaneous, and they grew to become best friends. They always talked and spent time in each other's company. They even shared rooms when it came time for them to hit the road. It was utterly platonic between them. However, it was during these times together that John began to develop something for Ginger. Something John tried to deny.

It was desire and attraction, but more prominently, he had developed feelings for Ginger. _Romantic_ feelings. As much as John wanted to deny it, and no matter how hard he tried not to feel the way he did, it was no use. He had inadvertently fallen for his best friend, his bandmate. John 5 had fallen in love with Ginger Fish.

Because of this, John was at a loss on what he should do about it. Should he tell Ginger of his feelings for him? Or should he keep them to himself and continue their heterosexual and platonic relationship? The ladder should be the obvious choice, but John was a lovesick dumbass who wanted to be more than friends. The only thing that held him back though was that he was afraid Ginger would reject him and flat out end their friendship. And that was something John didn't want to happen. So he pined after Ginger instead. It was all John could do for now, at least until he dared to confess his love for him.

How sad that he found himself in a teenage rom-com.

"Finally!" Pogo exclaimed, pulling John out of his reverie and bringing attention to the large black tour bus approaching them. It stopped ahead of them, letting out a hiss as it did, and Pogo immediately climbed aboard, followed by Twiggy. Manson was about to board himself, but he paused at the door when he noticed that John hadn't moved from his spot yet.

"What the hell you waiting for, Five? Come on; I want to get going!" growled Manson.

John shifted his feet a bit. He didn't want to test his boss, but, "But Ginger's not here yet."

Manson's eyes narrowed to slits, but before he could bark at John, Ginger burst through the double doors like a bat out of hell.

"There he is. Now let's go!" Manson barked anyway and boarded the bus.

Ginger came up to John and exhaled, a bit out of breath from his run. "Dude, you forgot your pick back in there," he said as he held up a black guitar pick with the number five imprinted on it. John blinked at it. He checked all his pockets and realized that he didn't have it. Ginger chuckled with a shake of his head. "I can't believe you could forget something so vital to you."

John scoffed. "You know I can do without it, right?" he told Ginger but took the pick from him anyway. Sure, John had plenty of picks to spare, but it flattered him knowing that Ginger even thought to do that for him.

Ginger gave a quirky smile and shrugged. "You seem to have a liking for that one though."

That was true. John nodded and smiled. "Well, in that case, thank you."

Ginger smiled back and returned the nod. There was a moment where they just stood there, eyes locked. But then—

"Would you two hurry the fuck up!" Manson suddenly bellowed from inside the bus. John and Ginger rolled their eyes before finally hopping aboard.

~*~*~

The band stood inside the elevator while it slowly took them up to their floors. John and Ginger shared a room on the third floor, meaning their elevator ride would be a short one. Sure enough, it stopped with a gentle jolt, and the metal doors slid open.

"Later, guys," Ginger mumbled to the guys before exiting. John made to follow after him, but he came to a halt when someone grabbed his shoulder. He looked back and saw that it was Manson.

"Hey, we're having a little party in Twiggy's room. You in?" he asked.

"Uh..." John thought for a moment and turned his eyes to look down the hall for Ginger, who was nowhere in sight. He jumped when he heard a bang next to him and looked back at Manson, who was holding the door open with his hand.

" _So_?" If Manson had eyebrows, John was sure that he'd be raising one.

"Um, I'll think about it," he answered.

"All right then." Manson nodded and removed his hand to allow the elevator door to slide close.

"Tell Ginger too!" Twiggy suddenly yelled out just before the door slid closed, and John made a mental note to do that.

He made his way down the corridor, and upon reaching his room, he found the door to be ajar. John smiled. Ginger must have left it open for him, and John appreciated how thoughtful Ginger was. He entered the room, and as soon as he closed the door, John let out a relieved sigh, happy to be in the comforts of his temporary home. He walked further into the room and found Ginger rummaging through his luggage, apparently searching for some clean clothes.

"Are you headed for the shower?" John asked him. He took off his coat and draped it over a desk chair.

"Yeah," Ginger replied. "I'm dying for one."

"Oh." John subconsciously rubbed a greasy strand of blond hair between his fingers and scowled a little.

Ginger looked up at him at that moment and asked, "Did you want to go first? I can wait."

"Nah, you go ahead," said John. He went over to his bed and sat down on it so that he could unlace his boots.

"You sure?" Ginger persisted, and John thought that maybe Ginger was a bit too thoughtful sometimes. He gave him a look that plainly said 'Yes I'm sure,' and Ginger laughed. He patted John on the shoulder in thanks, gathered up his clean clothes and toiletries, and disappeared into the bathroom.

John wiggled his toes once he removed his boots, then he set them aside and grabbed the TV remote from the night table. He threw his feet up on the mattress, leaned back against the headboard, and turned on the television. John flipped through channel after channel, searching for something to watch, but nothing caught his interest. All he found was news, sports, and various primetime TV shows, most of which were dramas that only a homemaker would enjoy. With a sigh, he settled on a censored-for-TV comedy film and placed the TV remote back on the night table. John watched it for only two minutes before letting out another sigh. The movie was way too censored to be considered funny. He reached out for the remote again, but then he noticed something on the other bed.

Sitting on top of Ginger's open luggage was his leopard-print hoodie. Forgetting about the remote, he got up from the bed and took a step towards the other. He stared down at it. It was Ginger's favourite hoodie, even though Ginger would probably deny it till the day he died. Hesitantly, John picked it up. He rubbed the fabric between his fingertips and noted its texture was as soft as it looked. Without thinking, John brought the hoodie up to his face and inhaled. His eyes closed as he took in the scent. It was intoxicating, and John loved it. He could see himself becoming addicted to it. He just wished that he could have the real thing, to breathe in Ginger's scent while he held him in his arms.

Wow, that was a bit cheesy. But it was the truth. John was head over heels in love with Ginger.

Having not noticed the shower had stopped, John jumped when he heard the bathroom door open, dropping the hoodie onto the floor. He plopped his ass back onto his bed and attempted to act casual.

"All yours," Ginger said as he appeared from the corner. John's heart skipped a beat at hearing him say those words. He stared at him, his eyes quickly skating over Ginger's body. He was only wearing his pyjama pants, and he had a towel draped across his shoulders, using one end of it to towel off his wet hair. John stared, transfixed, as a few droplets fell from Ginger's hair and onto his muscled chest, running down his skin and into his toned abdomen. John's brain felt like it was short-circuiting. He made a faint sound without meaning to and snapped his eyes back up to meet Ginger's. He must have caught on to John's demeanour because his face contorted in a mix of laughter and confusion. "You okay there?"

John nodded quickly, turning away so Ginger wouldn't see the flush of his cheeks. He needed to get a hold of himself. He was an adult; he could handle this. It was only Ginger — a wet, topless Ginger.

He coughed. "I just came across something weird on TV... It made me uncomfortable..." he lied in a mumble. He had never been the best of liars.

"It must have been quite a scene," Ginger said before sitting down on the end of his bed. He focused his attention on the television screen. "So what are you watching now?"

"I don't know," replied John. "I just came across it."

Ginger made an understanding 'oh' with his mouth and started watching the movie. John mentally sighed in relief. He was lucky that Ginger hadn't noticed his hoodie out of place.

With feigned nonchalance, he dug through his luggage for his clothes and toiletries; then he hurried into the bathroom for his turn. He rushed through his shower routine in record time, resolutely ignoring his eager cock in favour of turning the shower temperature to a frigid degree while he calmed down. Shivering, John stepped out of the shower and proceeded to dry himself. He left the bathroom a while later, fully dressed, and found Ginger still in the same state, the towel he .had used to dry his hair was draped carelessly over a chair. With a sniff, John grabbed the damp cloth, marched back into the bathroom, hung it over the shower curtain rail, and exited again. Ginger chuckled as he passed him, finding amusement in John's OCD tendency. John sniffed again and sat down on his bed. He watched TV for some time until he remembered Manson's offer.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Manson's having a party upstairs, and he wanted to know if you were up for it. You up for it?"

Ginger looked up at the ceiling while he pondered the question, before finally answering, "No, I don't think so. I'll pass." He looked down at his torso and seemed to realize that he was still topless, so he leaned back and pulled out a shirt from his bag. He then stood up and slipped it on, fixing the waist before sitting back down. "What about you?" he asked afterwards.

"Nah," John replied. "The show was enough for me."

"I agree," said Ginger, nodding.

Both men sat quietly on their beds while they watched TV. John, however, wasn't as interested in the movie as the other man was. Every now and again, he would sneak a glance over to Ginger. He couldn't help it. He was attracted to the drummer like a magnet. Ginger must have sensed eyes burrowing into him because he looked over his shoulder and caught John intently staring at him.

"What?" he asked.

John's face felt hot, flaming with embarrassment at being caught like a peeping Tom through a window. Maybe he should tell him. Spill the beans right here and now. They were alone and had privacy. It was the perfect time to tell Ginger how he honestly felt about him.

"Hey, um, can we talk?" John timidly asked.

Ginger tilted his head, blinked, and nodded. He transferred beds and sat down next to John. "What's up?"

John wasn't sure how to start. He didn't want to fuck everything up by saying the wrong thing. He needed to approach the subject carefully. "What do you think of us?"

Ginger creased his brow, seemingly unable to fully grasp what John was asking. "Well, you're my friend, of course."

"Just friends?" John frowned a little at that.

"Well... yeah," replied Ginger, still confused. "Why?"

John thought long and hard about whether he should just come right out and tell Ginger or drop the subject entirely. He needed closure on this, or it'll just continue to linger over his head. He _needed_ to know whatever the outcome may be.

"I have to tell you something." John took a moment to brace himself. "I—"

Loud bangs filled the room at that instant, startling the two occupants. Someone was pounding at the door persistently, demanding entrance. John glared at the door as if it offended him. Ginger only sighed with a shake of his head.

"Hold that thought," said Ginger. He got up to answer the door, and as soon as he opened it, a swarm of people flooded through the threshold, pushing Ginger to the wall.

"Sup, bro!" said Pogo, swinging his arm over Ginger's shoulders.

" _Pogo_ ," Ginger gritted out as he watched the uninvited guests invade his room. "Where did these women come from, and how did you guys get them so fast?"

"Perks of being a rockstar, Ginger," Manson said as he walked by.

"Here here!" cheered Pogo, following the singer. Then Twiggy popped up in Pogo's place.

"You guys took too long, so we brought the party here," announced Twiggy, a slight slur in his tone, already a bit drunk.

Ginger tutted, apparently annoyed by this development. He shut the door with a slam once everyone had entered and squeezed through the small crowd as he made his way back to John.

"So," he said once he returned, sitting down next to him. "What were you going to tell me?"

John shook his head. "Nothing. Never mind."

He got up from the bed, vaguely noticing Ginger's shrug, and took residence on a couch in the corner of the room. He attempted to focus his attention on the television and continue watching the movie. However, because of all the commotion and activity going on, it was impossible to do so.

Later that night, the party was still going on. It was nearly midnight, and they had been getting noise complaints all evening. But of course, they were ignored.

John stared blankly out the window that was next to the couch, his chin resting atop his palm, sulking. He didn't feel like taking part in the party. So much for a quiet night of relaxation — and some alone time with Ginger. He felt a gentle dip next to him, and he looked to see who or what it was that caused the disturbance. Sitting next to him was a woman, a brunette beauty with sun-kissed skin and large breasts. She gave a sexy grin as she played footsies with him.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, not in the mood for whatever she had planned. Instead, he looked away to glare at the crowd of people in the room. Then he caught a glimpse of Ginger, lying on the bed with a blonde woman on top of him, the two engaged in a furious kiss that rivalled a porno film. John creased his brow. The sight of Ginger kissing someone else made his chest tingle with jealousy.

Chills ran down his spine when he felt a warm sensation on the side of his neck. He looked at the woman again. She was brushing her ruby lips against his neck, clearly seducing him. John wanted her to go away, but he had to face the fact that she wasn't going to leave him alone until she got what she came for, no matter how uninterested he was. So he motioned for her to sit on his lap. No less than a minute later, they were devouring each other with tongues and teeth.

Another night of being used.

~*~*~

"John, wake up, buddy," was the first thing John heard as he slowly came to consciousness. He could vaguely feel a hand shaking his shoulder as the voice continuously called his name. John groaned, pouting like a child on the morning of a school day. He didn't want to wake up just yet. Ultimately, it was the unexpected weight of something big falling on the bed over his feet that woke him, making him jolt up in alarm. He blinked owlishly at what it was that dared to disturb him. It was his luggage, and standing at the foot of his bed was Ginger.

"Good morning, sleepy head. It's time to get up!" Ginger grinned, looking proud of his method of waking John quicker.

John lied back down in a huff. "That was a little unnecessary, don't you think?" he grumbled sleepily.

"Nope," chirped Ginger. John grumbled some more and rolled over. He heard a tut from Ginger. "Come on, John. You better get up. We'll be leaving soon."

With another grumble, John sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "When are we leaving?"

"In about half an hour."

John nodded and yawned deeply. He slowly slithered out of bed and stood up with a stretch, his back popping nicely. Before he headed off to the bathroom, he noticed Ginger dashing around the room like an out of control puppy. John watched in wonder as Ginger looked around and under the furniture, going from one corner of the room to the other.

"Um, Ginger?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm making sure we don't forget anything," Ginger explained. He checked around the couch and scoffed. He stood up and presented something small between his fingertips. "Your guitar pick was on the floor."

John blinked at the pick in Ginger's possession, a bit confused. It was the very same guitar pick that Ginger had recovered for him the night before. He thought he had put it away. How in the world did it end up on the floor?

"Maybe you got way too busy last night," Ginger teased. He flicked the guitar pick back to its owner, and John caught it with ease.

"I guess so," John said with a shrug. He couldn't recall the events from last night. Frankly, he didn't care. As expected, it was just another night with another woman. It was always the same old routine. All part of being a rockstar, he supposed.

Rather than resume his mission, Ginger let out a huff and plopped down on the couch. "I think we have everything."

"Mmm," John replied absently, a little distracted. Ginger was sitting directly under the morning sunlight, making him look angelic. His hair was shining, the blond highlights accentuating the radiance of it, giving off a golden aura like a halo. His milky skin seemed to almost glow in the light, and his eyes, those big brown eyes, they had a twinkle to them. It was mesmerizing.

"What are you looking at?" Ginger asked in a mock sneer.

John looked away and coughed, his cheeks growing warm. What was he going to do before? Oh yeah, bathroom. But first, he needed fresh clothes. He approached his luggage, zipped it open, and randomly pulled out a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. When he went to grab some socks, something fell out of his luggage and onto the floor.

"Hey, what's that?"

Before John could even look down to see what it was, Ginger had swooped in and grabbed the thing like a bird snatching its prey, bringing it up to his face in wonder. His eyes twinkled in recognition, then he looked up at John, grinning.

"And when were you going to share these with me, Lowery?" he asked teasingly, waving an envelope full of developed photos in front of John.

"Um, I forgot," John mumbled. He had initially planned to share the photos with him, but that prospect seemed to have slipped his mind. He seemed to be forgetting a lot lately.

Ginger rolled his eyes, probably sharing the same thought, and asked, "Mind if I take a look?"

"Nah, go ahead.," John answered.

"Sweet," said Ginger, more to himself, it seemed.

He opened the envelope and pulled out the thick stack of photos. John watched as Ginger looked through them one by one, his expression changing each time. He would smile, raise a brow, and sometimes laugh. But then he paused on one photo, looking thoughtful.

"I remember this one," Ginger murmured. He turned the photo around to show John. It was a picture of the two of them, side by side and both smiling. It was simple yet sweet.

"Really?" John asked, amused.

"Yeah." Ginger stroked the tip of his finger along the edge of the photo. "New Years. Vegas."

John chuckled. "I can't believe you remember that."

Ginger scoffed. "Not like it was that long ago. I even remember the hug you gave me when we rung in the new year."

John felt his cheeks grow warm again. He remembered that moment too. It was New Year's Eve, and the band were in Las Vegas for a show. John had given Ginger a big hug after they had rung in 1999. The picture was taken shortly after that. It was a perfectly captured moment.

"You know what though," Ginger continued, "I don't even remember who took the picture."

John blinked. Then he snorted. "Come to think of it; neither do I."

Ginger tutted, shaking his head. "Sign of the times," he sighed. He held up the stack of photos. "Great shots, by the way."

John smiled. "Thanks."

Ginger returned the smile and handed the photos back to him. John thought for a moment that maybe now was the time to reveal his feelings to him. They just shared a moment, and they were all alone in the room. Yes, this was a perfect time. With a deep breath, John gathered up his courage. Before he could even open his mouth, the fucking phone rang like a fucking Banshee, ultimately catching the both of them off guard. John scowled, annoyed that he had been interrupted yet again.

As John was the closest one to the phone, he went to answer it. "Hello?"

"What the fuck, guys!" Marilyn Manson barked, and John momentarily pulled the phone away from his ear. Before he could speak his reply, Manson continued, "The others are already downstairs. What is the holdup? The bus is outside. Get your asses down here!" Then there was a click, signalling the disconnection.

"Okay then," John said, shaking his head as he hung up the phone.

"Manson?" Ginger asked.

"Yeah. The bus is outside, so we better get a move on before Manson goes ape on us," John informed and Ginger nodded.

~*~*~

Manson was glaring at them, his mismatched eyes narrowed to slits, and his black upper lip curled. "Fuck, you guys are always slow."

"Sorry," John and Ginger mumbled in unison.

"We'd probably be there by now if you guys quit lollygagging," Twiggy added. Everyone looked at him incredulously. "What?"

" _Twiggy_ ," Pogo said slowly, and his eye twitched a little. He looked like he wanted to hit Twiggy, but he held himself from doing so. "It's a six-hour drive."

"Well, _excuse me_ ," Twiggy huffed and crossed his arms. "I'm hungover and can't think straight. Give me a break."

Ginger let out a small snort. "Sure, Twiggs."

" _Thank you_!" Twiggy squeaked out the words, beaming.

"Shut up, Twiggy," Manson growled, making Twiggy frown and the others snicker.

For the duration of their long journey, the band indulged themselves with the perks of travelling on a tour bus. Manson and Twiggy were sitting on the couch, talking to each other. Pogo was seated at the bar, fixing himself a treat to eat. John and Ginger were in their bunks, having a conversation of their own. It was nice. Right up until Pogo joined Manson and Twiggy, and an uproar of laughter and ensuing ruckus destroyed the calmness of the cabin. Because of the commotion, John and Ginger decided to retreat to the back of the bus. Once there, they took a seat on the small sofa and continued with their earlier conversation.

It was a while later when Ginger let out a deep yawn and followed it up with a mumbled, "Sorry," before resting his head on the palm of his hand, his eyes looking heavy.

"You look tired," John commented after taking notice of the dark circles around his eyes. "Did you get enough sleep last night?" Ginger shook his head and John tutted. "You should take a nap," he recommended. "It's going to be a long ride anyway, so you might as well."

Ginger let out another deep yawn and slowly nodded. He mumbled something unintelligible, then he slumped against the couch and dropped his head back. He fell asleep within seconds. John blinked at him. He thought Ginger would've retreated to his bunk, but figured that he must have been too exhausted to make the trip.

With Ginger asleep, John's only form of entertainment now was to watch the landscape zoom by the windows. It wasn't very entertaining though, not when all he saw was a neverending line of trees. He could play his guitar, of course, but he felt that there wasn't a place on the bus for him to do so. The front was too noisy and probably a hazard zone. The back was also a no-go because well, Ginger was sleeping and John didn't want to disturb him. And the bathroom was out of the question, because gross.

So after a while, John decided to hang out in his bunk, maybe take a nap too. But then something pressed against his side, prompting him to see what it was, and to his surprise, it was Ginger. He was leaning against him, his head resting on his shoulder, and John was unsure of what to do. Should he push Ginger the other way, or move to let him lie down? Either of those two options would be appropriate, but instead, John decided to remain as they were. And for a long time, they stayed that way.

He listened to Ginger's slow respirations, long and even. It was relaxing to hear. Sure, the commotion in front of the bus was present, but John barely registered it as background noise. His only focus was on Ginger. He found it adorable whenever Ginger made a small sound in his sleep, like a moan or a hum, and John wondered if he was dreaming about something good. Sometimes, Ginger would also snuggle against John, like a kitten showing its affection. He loved that.

Ginger sniffed. It was a small sniff, the kind someone would make when something was bothering their nose. From what John could see, Ginger's hair had fallen onto his face and was probably tickling his cute nose. So John brushed his hair from his face and Ginger seemed to appreciate the gesture, even in his unconscious state. That made John smile. He repeated the gesture whenever it happened again. But then, after a while, John started to comb Ginger's soft hair between his fingers. It was an innocent gesture, but something in the back of his mind was telling him that he shouldn't be doing that. However, John didn't think it was a big deal, and Ginger seemed to like it anyway. So he continued.

It was a good while until Ginger began to stir. He inhaled deeply and hummed contentedly. "That feels nice," he mumbled sleepily to himself.

John stopped combing his hair, now that Ginger was waking up. "Did you have a nice nap?" he asked him.

Ginger didn't respond. Instead, he tensed up, and to John's shock, Ginger jerked away from him and scooted as far away from him as best he could without falling off the couch. He looked at John with astonishment and confusion, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

John mirrored his expression. "What?"

"Why were you..." Ginger paused, swallowed, and tried again. "Why were you treating me like that?"

"Treating you like what?" asked John. "All I did was let you sleep on my shoulder."

Ginger made a face. "You were playing with my hair."

"So?" was John's reply to that, and Ginger glared at him.

"Don't you think that was a little too _intimate_?" Ginger asked scathingly. "I mean, you're my friend. Friends _don't_ do that."

"What if I don't see you as a friend?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, John wanted to take them back. He wished he could grab them and stuff them deep down his throat and choke to death on them. But it was too late.

Ginger blanched. "W-what?"

"No, wait, I meant—" John tried to correct himself, but Ginger wasn't having any of it.

"I don't want to hear it," he told him, and John fell silent. Ginger stood up and walked away after that, leaving a stunned John behind.

What the fuck just happened? Had John fucked up by blurting out his feelings for Ginger? Damn it. That wasn't how he wanted to tell him. He should go after Ginger and explain himself, but he didn't want to make things worse. So he stayed put, spending the remainder of the bus ride moping.

~*~*~

"Finally!" John heard Pogo announce as the bus came to a halt. He waited in the back of the bus until he heard everyone leave. Once it was quiet, John left his hiding spot and made his way to the front.

"Cheese and crackers!"

John jumped five feet into the air with an undignified yelp and whirled around to see who startled him. It was Twiggy. He was clutching his heart, a look of surprise on his face.

"Damn it, John," he laughed. "You scared the shit out of me."

" _I_ scared the shit out of _you_?" John wrinkled his nose. "I think I just lost ten years of my life, thanks to you."

"Ah, you're fine." Twiggy waved him off. He bent down to pick up the bag he had dropped in his scare and pulled the strap of it over his shoulder as he straightened up. "Oh, by the way, do you know what's up with Ginger? He didn't seem like himself earlier."

John lowered his gaze. He knew why, but he shook his head in the negative. Twiggy considered him for a moment, the feeling of being scrutinized like an x-ray not escaping John, and then he shrugged in that 'meh' way.

"What about you?" he asked instead. "Are you okay? You don't seem as bubbly as usual."

John pulled a fake smile. "I'm fine. Just tired."

Twiggy considered him again, and after a short while, he nodded. "Okay, good," he said and made his way out the door. With a sigh, John followed him.

It was raining a little when John stepped out of the bus. Tiny droplets fell from the grey sky, making the pavement dark and wet. At the rear of the bus stood the band, all waiting to gather their baggage from the compartment. No, not all of them. John paused when he noticed Ginger already at the doors of the hotel, luggage in tow.

Shit. That wasn't good.

~*~*~

John paused outside the door of his assigned room — _their_ room, hesitant to enter. He didn't know what to expect. Would Ginger be angry with him? Would he even want him there? Many questions ran through his head, but until he passed through the threshold, those questions would remain unanswered. Taking in a deep breath, John entered.

What he found inside was much worse. Ginger was sitting on one of the beds, his elbows on his knees and face buried in his hands. He looked like a man in crisis, and John swallowed the guilt he felt. Ginger lifted his head from his hands and looked at John when he entered the room. Their eyes momentarily met before Ginger everted them to stare down at the floor. John frowned, the guilt he felt now accompanied by hurt.

He awkwardly stored away his guitar and luggage and quietly removed his coat and shoes. Afterwards, John just sat down on his bed, not knowing what else he could do. Ginger remained still and quiet the whole time, his head bowed and hands clenched into fists atop his lap.

John wasn't sure if he should say anything. The air in the room was thick and heavy with tension, the kind of heaviness that was equivalent to estrangement, like former lovers who have nothing but contempt for each other. It was unusual, and that bothered John. Had he made Ginger that upset with him? He didn't think his actions were that much of a big deal, but he supposed he did go a bit too far, especially with his sudden declaration. It was clear that Ginger didn't see their relationship in that way, which hurt, but if he wanted to keep his friendship with him, he should apologize for his discretion.

"I'm sorry," John finally said, breaking the heavy silence. "I shouldn't have done that."

Ginger glanced at John before looking away again. "It's fine," he said tightly.

Another stretch of silence, until, "Are you mad at me?" John asked quietly.

Ginger visibly flinched, as though the question had struck him. He took in a shaky breath and said, "No. I'm not mad at you."

John felt some relief at hearing that, but he was still bothered by Ginger's attitude towards him. "Then what's wrong?"

Ginger's tense shoulders slumped as he sighed. He stood up, walked over to John, and sat down next to him on the bed. They both sat in silence. John pursed his lips while Ginger clenched his jaw, seemingly having a mental war with what he was trying to convey.

"It's complicated," he finally said. He let out another sigh. "I just..." he trailed off. But then he shook his head and scowled. "Never mind. Forget it." Ginger moved to stand up, but John grabbed his arm before he could.

"No, tell me what's wrong," said John, demanding but gentle.

Ginger stared down at the hand that was gripping his forearm, frowning. Then he turned his eyes up to John's. They stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. Ginger's eyes, his beautiful brown eyes, they were big and filled with something that John couldn't read. They flicked down to look at his lips, just for a moment, before flicking back up to lock eyes with him again.

"John," was all he said, his voice soft. He raised a tentative hand to brush away a loose strand from John's face. His thumb caressed his warm cheek when he tucked the blond lock behind his ear.

John could feel his heart rate increasing. He had never been this close to him before. Not in this way. "Ginger?" he questioned, his voice just as soft.

There was a beat. And then Ginger leaned forward, brought his face right up close to John's, and, kissed him. Tentatively and sweetly. John's heart fluttered, and his breath caught in his throat. His mind had gone blank. The only thing he could think about was that Ginger was kissing him. The man he loved and longed for was _really_ kissing him. And it was amazing.

Without a second thought, John parted his lips, and Ginger's tongue flicked inside. That was all it took for them to drop whatever inhibitions they had and they dove in for a more passionate and intense kiss. Tongues and lips worked desperately against each other, their bodies coming closer together. And then Ginger surprised John by climbing onto his lap, straddling him and deepening their kiss further. Tongues entwined, lips smacked, teeth nipped, and hands roamed. It was fucking hot and heavy. But then John's brain finally caught up with him, and he abruptly pulled away from the embrace and looked into Ginger's dark eyes.

"What are we doing?" he asked him in a whisper. They should stop. They shouldn't be doing this. Not when things were fragile between them, not when it could potentially cause a rift in their friendship.

Ginger just stared at him, his face unreadable. "I don't know," he said eventually. Before John could respond, Ginger brought their lips together again, effectively ridding John of his thoughts.

While they kissed, Ginger moved his hands down to John's waist, going lower until his nimble fingers hooked underneath the hem of his shirt. He broke away for a moment to take off John's shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside, before attacking his mouth again. The process repeated, this time with Ginger's shirt and hoodie. A little later, Ginger slowly pushed John onto his back and knelt over him, their mouths never detaching as it happened.

They stayed like that for many blissful moments, making out like a pair of randy teenagers behind the bleachers. Ginger surprised John once more when he pushed his hand between their bodies and grabbed John's crotch. John jerked and shuddered, moaning through their kiss as Ginger began to massage his groin, kneading the bulge of his growing erection through the material of his jeans. And then it was gone. John whined his displeasure and broke the kiss. He was about to say something, but then he felt his fly being worked open and he opted to bite his lip instead. It wasn't long until he had his jeans shoved down and his hard cock surrounded by long fingers. They began to pump him, slow and tantalizing, giving a firm squeeze every few strokes and causing John to writhe with the growing need for more.

He reached out for Ginger's belt, his skilled fingers succeeding at pulling the buckle loose before Ginger slapped his hands away and did the rest himself. He shoved down his jeans a little past his hips, pulling out his erection when he did. Then he grabbed both of John's wrists and pinned them to the bed, right above his head. John moaned as Ginger fitted himself between his legs and pressed their cocks together. He thrust against him, and the intimate slide of their cocks made John gasp.

Ginger gritted his teeth and groaned. He sought out John's mouth again, kissing him messily as he continued to roll his hips. Every pass Ginger's hard cock made against John's own felt heavenly, the ever-growing pleasure pooling in his lower belly like liquid fire, making it hard to keep kissing Ginger. So he broke it and watched him instead. He stared up into his eyes, those big brown eyes, dark with need. Ginger leaned his forehead against John's, returning the intense gaze. Their breath mingled as their hips rocked, their eyes stuck on each other.

While keeping one hand firmly on both of John's wrists, Ginger slipped the other between them and wrapped his long fingers around both of them. John's chest tightened as Ginger began to pump their erections, running his thumb over the tops of their cocks on every up-thrust. Their pre-come mixed as Ginger carried on stroking them, the pleasure running through John, bringing him closer to losing his mind.

"Oh, God," John whimpered. "I'm—I'm close."

At that, Ginger's hand tightened almost painfully around John's wrists. He started thrusting into him harder and faster. John threw his head back, closed his eyes, and flexed his wrists in Ginger's tight grip.

"Fuck, yes, yes, don't stop," John cried out, and Ginger never relented. He kept going like a champion, his breaths coming out in quick and hard bursts. John's mouth fell open as his balls tightened up. And then he came. John came loudly, shaking, his cock shooting between them and making an obscene mess of them both, a raspy moan that contained Ginger's name filling the room. He hardly had the chance to process any of it because Ginger pressed his face to the side of John's neck, that soft brown hair tickling his jaw, and he made the most aching, gorgeous sound just before John felt the warm splash of spunk across his stomach and over his cock. The grip on his wrists weakened, loosening enough so that John was able to wind his arms around Ginger's neck. Ginger remained as he was, catching his breath, palms now braced against the mattress on either side of John's head.

The moment was beautiful. John played with Ginger's soft hair while Ginger's lips caressed his neck in barely-there kisses. In the next moment, though, Ginger pulled out of John's arms and stood up to clean himself with the box of tissues on the night table. He fastened his jeans after he finished. Then he turned his back to John and sat down on the other bed. Ginger had avoided making eye contact the whole time, and John feared that something was wrong. He tucked himself away, paid no mind to the mess on his stomach, and sat up.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Ginger didn't answer. He didn't even spare him a glance. John felt a sinking sensation slip down his insides. Was Ginger freaking out? Was he regretting what had happened between them? John tried not to panic. "Ginger, are you okay?" he asked, more gingerly.

"This was a mistake," Ginger said after a while, and John's heart dropped.

"A mistake? But I thought..." John couldn't finish what he wanted to say.

Ginger turned his head away, hiding his face. "You thought wrong," he said quietly. Then he stood up and started to put the rest of his clothes back on.

"No, wait," John said urgently.

Ginger completely ignored him.

"Ginger, please don't go," John pleaded. Ginger shook his head and bound out of the room. John swore after he heard the door close, and he fell back onto the bed with tears stinging his eyes.

~*~*~

Ginger never came back, not even when it got dark out. John had wanted to look for him, pretty sure that Ginger was rooming with one of the other band members, but his conscience was telling him that he should let Ginger have some time alone to think.

And so he did.

He had a restless night, barely able to sleep. His morning wasn't any better. Ginger still hadn't come back, and John was growing anxious. He considered looking for him, but once again, his conscience convinced him to stay, citing that Ginger still needed time. Besides, he would see him when it came time to leave for the venue. Until then, though, John could only sit around and wait.

While he sat on the couch, blindly staring out the window and feeling dejected, John allowed himself to drown in his thoughts, the guitar on his lap long forgotten. He thought about a lot of things, such as Ginger's behaviour, the reasons for his sudden departure, and his whereabouts. But it was that time they had together that he thought about the most.

He remembered every moment of it: every touch, every kiss, every sound — all of it. John would be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed it, but at the same time, he knew that they had gone too far. They had crossed a line, one that divided their relationship between platonic and romantic, one that was now blurred and undefinable.

He wondered if he should abandon telling Ginger of his feelings, mend their fragile friendship and forget this whole mess ever happened. That would be best if he wanted to salvage their relationship, but the prospect of that was hard for John to accept. He couldn't just forget about what happened between them. It was more than just sex they had yesterday. No. There was something else there, something more. John knew it, and he was sure that Ginger knew it too.

A rap of urgent knocks filled the room, pulling John out of his reverie. With a sigh, he set aside his guitar and got up to answer the door. As soon as he opened it, a red-faced Twiggy dashed through the threshold and straight to the bathroom, already dressed in his stage attire.

"I need to use your bathroom. Manson's taking too fucking long in ours, and Pogo's not in his," he rushed out. Not bothering to close the bathroom door, Twiggy immediately did his business, and John turned his back to him in disgust.

"There's a door, you know," he said with a huff as he returned to his seat.

"We're all grown men," Twiggy told him from the bathroom.

"Doesn't mean you can't have some decency," John countered.

Twiggy laughed. He stepped out of the bathroom once he was done and joined John on the couch. "So, how's Johnny today?"

John shrugged. He hoped Twiggy wouldn't question him on his lack of 'bubbliness.' Thankfully, Twiggy noticed the open box of cookies on the coffee table and started to bounce in his seat. Honestly, the guy was like a child sometimes.

"Ooh, are those yours?" he asked.

"Yep," replied John.

"Breakfast?" asked Twiggy, quite unnecessarily in John's opinion. But Twiggy was right. The cookies were John's poor excuse of a breakfast.

" _Yep_ ," John repeated, popping the 'p' this time.

"Oh," was Twiggy's only response. A beat passed. Then he asked, "Can I have some?"

"Help yourself," said John, waving his hand to the box.

Twiggy beamed and snatched the box off the table. He shoved an oatmeal cookie into his mouth and hummed. He chewed happily for a bit, swallowed, and then—

"So why did Ginger stay on the bus last night?" Twiggy asked conversationally, inadvertently dropping a bomb on John, and John couldn't help but wince.

"Is that where he is?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Twiggy nodded and ate another cookie. With a full mouth, he explained, "Pogo told me that while he was in the bus yesterday, Ginger came in and hid away in his bunk. He wouldn't tell Pogo why, though." He swallowed and furrowed his brow. His eyes flicked to John, and he timidly asked, "Did something happen?"

John hesitated. How the hell was he supposed to answer that? He couldn't just tell Twiggy, 'Hey, I'm in love with Ginger, we had sex yesterday, and now he's avoiding me like the plague.' No, this issue was only between him and Ginger. So he shrugged, hoping that Twiggy would understand that he didn't want to talk about it.

Twiggy continued to stare at him for a moment, carefully studying him until he nodded. "All right then," he said before shoving another cookie into his mouth. "But if you ever want to talk..."

John smiled and sincerely said, "Thanks, man." He was more appreciative of his friendship with Twiggy at that moment.

Things lightened up a bit after that. Twiggy stayed in the room with John, both just talking about whatever subject sprang to mind. But then Twiggy started to have a coughing fit.

" _Dude_ , you gotta stop talking with your mouth full!" John cried, patting Twiggy's back. "I don't know how to do the Heimlich Maneuver, so if you choke for real next time, I'm just going to leave you gasping like a fish out of water."

"No, you won't," Twiggy proclaimed in a croak as soon as he finished coughing. "You're too much of a good man to let that happen."

He was right.

They resumed talking until it came time for them to leave. John didn't show it, but he was anxious. In a matter of minutes, he would meet up with Ginger. It would be the first time in each other's presence since their surprise coupling, and John wasn't sure what to expect.

Before they left the room, John grabbed Ginger's bag, something he had the foresight to get ready for him, knowing that Ginger would need it for the show.

~*~*~

The first thing John saw when he entered the bus was Ginger sitting on the sofa, his arms crossed and face impassive. He was staring at a spot somewhere in the corner, his eyes blank and unfocused. Like a scared puppy, John approached the sofa and sat next to him, keeping a respectable distance between them. He placed Ginger's bag in the middle and pushed it towards him.

Ginger turned his head to look at him, and for a brief moment, John thought that Ginger was going to say something. But when their eyes met, John nearly winced at what he saw. There was no warmth behind those eyes, just a cold glare that John had never seen directed at him before. And then Ginger looked away, returning his stare at the spot in the corner.

John clenched his teeth and balled his hands into fists. He understood if Ginger wasn't ready to talk yet and still needed space. And he could deal with Ginger not wanting a repeat of their encounter or wanting to keep it private. But to have Ginger treat him so coldly, that was something else entirely. John wanted to voice his frustrations to him, but he wasn't too keen on discussing personal matters in front of an audience. So John stayed quiet. He just wished Ginger had the decency not to treat him like a fucking ghost.

The bus ride was awkward. Well, for John and Ginger anyway, as the other band members were otherwise oblivious or too occupied in their shit to notice them. Ginger ignored John the whole time while John tried to keep his emotions in check.

It was quite a relief when the tour bus finally arrived at the venue, parking near the back entrance as per usual. One by one, the band exited the bus and followed Manson into the building in an orderly fashion. They dispersed into threes when they neared the dressing rooms: Manson disappearing into his, followed by Twiggy and Pogo, and then John and Ginger were alone in the corridor.

Their footsteps echoed in the halls as they walked in silence. The air around them was more palpable than ever, and John hated it. The tension was eating away at him like rust on a fifty-year-old bridge spanning a river. As frustrating as it was, it was nothing compared to what John felt in regards to Ginger's constant refusal to acknowledge his existence. And that was all John could take at that moment. He'd had enough. He gave Ginger time and space, and now it was time to discuss things with him. Privacy be fucking damned.

"Ginger, we need to talk," John said boldly.

"Not now," Ginger said firmly, never stopping or sparing a glance.

"Yes, now," John persisted. "I want to know why the fuck you're ignoring me."

"This isn't the time, John," Ginger hissed. His walk picked up in pace, attempting to distance himself from John.

" **Ginger**!"

Ginger halted and turned to face him. "Can you just drop it?" he nearly yelled. "I don't want to talk about it, okay? Now leave me alone," he said coldly. Then he turned away and continued walking.

"Ginger, please," John pleaded rather pathetically, but Ginger kept walking. Desperate, John sprinted, and as he reached him, he grabbed Ginger by the arm and slammed him against the wall.

"What the fuck, John!" Ginger snapped at him, eyes flashing with anger.

John felt a pang in his chest when he realized what he had done. It wasn't like him to react that way or treat someone as such. He released his grip on Ginger and backed away. Ginger remained against the wall and averted his eyes. He rubbed his hand on the arm John had grabbed, and John felt another pang of regret.

"I'm—I'm sorry," John stammered. "I didn't mean to do that. I just..." He took in a deep breath. "I just wanted to talk."

Ginger didn't respond. He kept his eyes averted, but he wasn't running away. So John presumed that Ginger was going to hear him out.

"I don't like how things have become between us. I know how much I messed up, and I understand how much this whole thing is bothering you. And for that, I'm sorry." John paused and studied Ginger. He was still unresponsive, but John knew he was listening, so he went on. "Despite all that, though, I can't seem to help myself. Every time I'm with you, I get this feeling of belonging. Like I could just be myself and not worry about anything. I know it's stupid, but I want you to know how much you mean to me."

John had been watching Ginger closely, looking for any signs that showed his hidden emotions. And while John had been talking, he could see the pulse point on Ginger's neck pounding, quickening with every word John spoke. Feeling emboldened, John took one step towards Ginger and continued.

"You're my best friend, and I'm grateful to have you as such. However, I'm afraid to be your friend, because I'm always going to want more," John admitted.

Ginger finally looked at him then, his expression showing a mixture of different emotions. He wrapped himself in his arms and swallowed. "John," he said in a small voice, almost like he was afraid.

"Kenny," John addressed, and Ginger seemed to lose his ability to breathe at that moment. It was the first time John had called him by his given name, and that seemed to effect Ginger a lot. John didn't know if his reactions were a good or bad sign, but he decided to keep going. He needed to get everything out now that he had started. "I've wanted to tell you for a while now, but it never seemed to be the right time for it. I wish it were in other circumstances, but..." He hesitated.

"John," Ginger repeated, voice wavering. "Please don't—"

"I love you," John finally confessed, and Ginger froze at the admission. John took a step closer to him, the gap between them nearly filled. "And if yesterday was something to go by, I think you love me too."

Ginger hugged himself tighter and moved away from John. "No. I don't," he said with conviction. He looked away, swallowed, and added, "I don't love you... Not in that way." And with that, Ginger walked away.

John stood rooted to the spot, just staring at the empty place Ginger had been standing. He couldn't move, couldn't think. He felt like he couldn't breathe. His throat was tight, and his chest hurt with something awful. His worst fear had come to fruition. Ginger had rejected him. John had given him his heart, and Ginger just took it and smashed it to millions of pieces. It was so cruel and painful; Ginger might as well had ripped his heart out from his chest and crushed it in his bare hands.

Feeling his eyes burn, John turned on his heel and fell back against the cold wall. He buried his face in his hands and allowed the tears to fall. Any hopes he had of Ginger returning his feelings had gone out the window. That was it; John had lost him. They possibly couldn't go back to the way things were after all of this, and John feared that he might have lost his best friend as well. The realization of that just worsened the pain and John let out a broken sob. He slid down to the floor, brought his knees up to his chest, and buried his face in his arms. He cried, mourning what he had lost.

He lost Ginger.

~*~*~

After the show, the band and some lucky ladies headed back to the hotel. Another after-party was in order. Thankfully, it would be taking place in Manson's room. John wasn't in the mood for one, but he figured he'd attend just for something to keep his mind off things.

Small victories.

The show was great, despite what John was going through. No one could ever suspect that something was amiss with a band member because once they were onstage, nothing else mattered except to play one hell of a show, even when times were shitty. That was something John could always lean on for support.

The bus ride back was typical. The women cuddled with whoever they could get their hands on, more interested in getting into bed with them rather than a simple chit-chat, which was okay with the men. John and Ginger were the exceptions, however. Although John didn't know why Ginger was ignoring the girls pawing at him, he was secretly glad that he was. Despite being rejected and not accepting it as an adult male should, he couldn't bear the thought of Ginger being with someone else.

Stupid emotions.

It wasn't long until they arrived at the hotel. The men and their dates departed from the bus and entered the building. Despite being a group of over a dozen people, they all somehow managed to squees into one elevator, albeit crowded as fuck. John stood flat against the back corner, two pairs of busty asses pressed against him. He tried to focus on those, but then the elevator came to a halt on the fourth floor, and John heard someone tut in annoyance.

"Where are you going?" Manson demanded of the person who, John guessed, pressed the exit button.

"I'm not up for a party. You guys go on ahead," came the reply, and John immediately knew the person to be Ginger. He stood on his toes just in time to see Ginger's familiar head of brown hair leave the elevator, and John wished he could go after him like those stupid rom-com films. But of course, he couldn't, and he swore internally when the elevator carried on to the sixth floor.

"That guy is such a downer sometimes," Pogo commented as he and the others flooded into the corridor. John merely shuffled out, shoulders slumped and eyes downcasted. No one seemed to notice him much.

"Yeah, well, not my problem," Manson said haughtily and motioned for the group of people to follow him. "Let's go."

Everyone except John followed the Antichrist Superstar. Twiggy happened to notice that he was still standing by the elevator doors and he raised a brow at him in question. John made a cutting gesture with his hand and pointed a finger to the floor. He hoped that Twiggy understood what he was conveying. Thankfully, he did. Twiggy nodded and waved at him, who did the same, and both of them went their separate ways.

John went down to the fourth floor and made his way to his room. And just like the day before, John paused outside the door with hesitation. Why the fuck was he there? Not having an interest in attending an after-party was reasonable enough, but to be there when Ginger probably wanted to be alone, John had no reason for that. Perhaps he just wanted to make amends with him, but who was to say that Ginger would let him?

Rather than ponder his reasons for being there, he entered the room.

What he found inside was almost reminiscent from yesterday, but not as bad as it was. Ginger was sitting on the foot of his bed, eyes staring out the window and hands resting atop his lap, looking lost in thought. When John entered the room, Ginger tore his eyes away from the window and looked at him. Their eyes met, held for a brief moment before John averted his gaze to stare at the landscape painting over his bed.

"Hi," he said timidly.

"Hi," Ginger said back. John probably imagined it, but he thought he detected a hint of disappointment in his voice. Deciding it was just wishful thinking, John proceeded to remove his trenchcoat and boots.

He sat on his bed afterwards, mirroring Ginger's pose, and the two stayed like that in utter silence for a long time. The atmosphere was more awkward than tense, and John supposed that was more tolerable. But the pain in his chest wasn't.

It hurt. The ache of losing something that he had never even had in the first place was almost unbearable, and it just made him angry with himself. How could he have been so stupid? How had he deluded himself into believing that there could be something between them? He should have known better. If only he knew beforehand that Ginger wouldn't return his feelings, that it would hurt this bad, he wouldn't have bothered. Instead, he had made a fool out of himself. And he had never been so disappointed in his life as right now, knowing that there would never be anything between them, knowing that he would never have Ginger or his heart.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, John stood up and went over to his luggage. He picked it up, dropped it on top of the desk, and began looking for some clothes. He needed to be alone, somewhere where he could let his emotions go, and the shower offered such a place.

"John?" Ginger called softly. John turned around and looked at him, a bit surprised. Ginger was looking back at him, his face masked in concern. "Are you okay?"

No, he wasn't. John was still in heartache from what happened earlier, but he didn't want Ginger to know that. So John responded with a stiff nod, suddenly feeling a twinge of anger. Ginger had some nerve asking him if he were okay, especially after the way he had been treating him. John wanted to yell at him, to tell him how much he was hurting, but he held his tongue.

Ginger frowned a little, clearly not convinced, but he nodded and bowed his head.

John turned back to his open luggage and took in a shaky breath as he tried to keep himself together, at least until he was in the bathroom. He furiously dug through his bag and shoved things aside like a tempered child. Fuck, he was acting stupid, and that knowledge didn't lessen the pain. It only made his eyes sting and the ache worse. He swallowed, and the action made his throat feel as though he had a golf ball stuck in it.

He stiffened when he felt arms slipping around his waist, followed by a head on his shoulder. John hadn't even taken notice of the fact that Ginger had gotten up. What kind of emotional wreck was he that he didn't even notice that?

"Ginger?" he questioned, unsure of how to react. Ginger remained quiet for some time. And then—

"I love you too," he murmured. His voice was small, but his tone held no hesitation.

John went stiff as a board. Ginger couldn't have said what he thought he heard. John didn't want to believe it, especially not after all this shit Ginger had put him through. "What?" was all he could utter out.

"You were right," said Ginger, voice still small. "I _do_ love you, John. I was lying when I said I didn't."

"You were?" John asked, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

Ginger nodded. "The truth is, I've been in love with you for a while now. I was just too scared to say or do anything about it."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. He wouldn't. It was just another cruel misleading. "But you said it was a mistake."

"I was lying about that too," Ginger admitted.

"And you've been treating me like..." John forced down the lump in his throat. His eyes stung with threatening tears.

The arms around his waist tightened a little, and Ginger pressed his head to John's. "I'm sorry," he said shakily. " _I'm so sorry_ I did that to you, John."

John's emotions were all over the place. He felt both angry and relieved, but he couldn't decide which one was more profound. Too overwhelmed by these emotions, John slumped in Ginger's arms and started to cry, not caring if he was acting like a girl. Ginger held him close. He shushed and murmured to him as they gently swayed. They remained like that for several minutes until John calmed and his tears subsided. It was quiet between them, a comfortable silence, as they continued to sway side to side. As much as John found this soothing, he still felt a pinch of anger towards Ginger.

"You're a fucking asshole," he told him after a while.

"I know," Ginger replied softly.

"You really hurt me," John continued.

" _I know_ ," Ginger repeated, more woundedly. "I never meant to. I'm so sorry, John. Please forgive me?"

John couldn't put his answer to the apology into words. So he twisted around and wrapped his arms around Ginger for a tight hug, conveying that he accepted his apology. Ginger sighed and returned the hug. John pulled back a little after a moment, both keeping their arms around each other, and their eyes finally met. Ginger's looked tired, but the twinkle in them was back, and John was relieved to see that.

"Why, though?" John asked. Ginger had the decency to look ashamed, seeming to understand what he meant by the question.

"I freaked out," Ginger admitted. "What happened on the bus yesterday... I overreacted." He laughed without humour. "It's stupid when I think back to it. It was very unnecessary of me," he said. John nodded, expressing his agreement and also for him to continue. So he did. "I didn't know what to think or say. I had a million thoughts going through my head, and I couldn't work them out," Ginger swallowed and looked away. "And then things got crazy. I was so confused and frustrated, and I didn't know how to handle it, so I ran away."

John gently pulled Ginger's face to him so that their eyes met again. "What about now?" he asked softly.

"I've straightened everything out," Ginger answered. "I'm not scared anymore, and I'm not going to run away again." He gulped. "I understand if you're still mad at me, but whenever you're ready, I'd like to give us a try."

John studied him carefully. He didn't want to get his hopes up just yet. "Really?" he asked.

Ginger held his gaze as he smiled and replied, "Really."

John responded by letting out a breath, closing his eyes and resting his forehead on Ginger's when he did. He was speechless, unable to find any words to express how immensely happy he felt, his earlier anger and heartache replaced by sweet relief and warm content. He felt there was only one thing he could do.

Slowly, John closed the space between them and softly kissed Ginger, who readily kissed him back. This kiss was different from their first one, just a caress of lips, sweet and gentle, but it was more passionate than it seemed. It was like something ignited between them, something beautiful. It was the birth of their newfound love, the beginning of their new relationship.

The beginning of them.

They pulled apart with a soft sound, and John looked at Ginger, meeting his gaze. Ginger was staring back at him with those beautiful brown eyes, and John got lost in them. They were warm and focused entirely on his, as though they were looking into his soul, and it almost made John weak at the knees. He attached their lips again, this time with more intensity. They held each other close as their kiss deepened, mouths opening so that their tongues entwined in a slow and sensual dance, growing hot and heavy as it progressed.

Their feet began to move, John walking Ginger backward until the backs of Ginger's knees hit the edge of the mattress, causing him to drop his ass onto the bed, breaking their kiss in the process. His cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink when John climbed onto his lap and straddled him, his hands coming to rest on Ginger's shoulders before diving in to resume their heated kiss. Warm hands settled tentatively on John's sides, keeping him secure as their kiss grew frantic once more.

John trailed his hands down to Ginger's front, where he began to fumble with the zipper of his leather jacket, and in quick succession, he pulled the slider down and shoved said jacket off Ginger's shoulders. Ginger made a sound and halted their kiss.

"John, we don't have to do that now," he breathed, meeting John's eyes. "We could just—"

"No," John stopped him. He gingerly continued to rid Ginger of his jacket, eventually pulling it off and dropping it to the floor, all the while Ginger watched him with unsure eyes. "I want to do this."

Before Ginger could say anything, John nuzzled his face into Ginger's neck and inhaled deeply, taking in the heady scent of sweat on Ginger's skin, courtesy of the band's earlier stage performance. John knew he was in a similar state: musky, sticky and a little damp, as neither of them had taken a shower yet. It would probably be gross if it were in another state of affairs, but considering what John wanted to do, it didn't seem to matter. And besides, he rather liked the muskiness of Ginger's scent.

" _John_ ," Ginger tried again, letting out a small moan when John sucked at the thin skin.

"Please," John begged. He pulled back and looked at Ginger. His eyes were glazed, the pupils dilated, and his cheeks were as flushed as ever. It was adorable how he simultaneously looked innocent and debauched. "I want to do this," John told him. "I want to feel you. All of you."

He still seemed dubious, so John took one of Ginger's hands and placed it on his hip to show him how much he wanted to do this. Finally, after a moment of them just staring at each other, Ginger nodded and put both hands on John's hips. "Are you sure?" he still asked anyway.

John nodded. He cupped Ginger's cheek, swiping his thumb over his cheekbone, and whispered, "Make love to me."

Those four words were all Ginger needed. He pulled John closer to him and reattached their lips, allowing himself to give in to his desires. John shivered when a pair of hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, goosebumps breaking out as cool fingers touched his warm skin, and John had to pull away from the kiss so that Ginger could pull his shirt over his head.

Ginger tossed the shirt aside, but instead of resuming their heated kiss, he focused his attention on the Japanese styled tattoos on John's chest. He traced the tip of his finger along the lines of the coy fish, his eyes expressing something akin to wonder, before turning his gaze to John's own.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered to him.

John bit his lower lip at the praise. No one had ever called him 'beautiful' before, and to have Ginger call him as such meant so much to him. They held each other's gaze while John returned the favour of removing Ginger's shirt. No matter how many times he had seen Ginger topless before, the sight of his lithe body would always make his heart rate increase. Ginger's chest was smooth and broad, his arms defined from years of working out and drumming.

Entranced, John went to push Ginger onto his back, but then Ginger hooked his hands under John's ass and lifted him. He turned them over with John clinging to his back as Ginger laid him down onto the bed. John back-crawled up the mattress until he reached the pillows, and Ginger crawled onto the bed after him until he was kneeling on all fours over John. They immediately engaged in another make-out session, urgent and needy, as though they couldn't get enough of each other.

"God, Kenny, I've wanted you for so long," John said in between kisses. Ginger shivered above him.

"Say that again," Ginger practically growled. "Say my name."

" _Kenny_ ," John breathed. Ginger shivered above him again and groaned just before assaulting John with tiny kisses along his face.

" _Johnny_ ," he whispered to him, almost possessively. It was John's turn to shiver, especially when Ginger moved his sweet kisses down to his neck.

The warmth of Ginger's breath on his skin, coupled with the brushing and caressing of soft lips, was making the fine hairs on his neck stand on end. He received a lovebite afterwards when Ginger lightly nipped his clavicle and sucked at it, sure to leave his mark on him. John hummed as Ginger continued downward to his chest. Ginger was very thorough in covering every square inch of John's body. He kissed, licked, and sucked as he went lower and lower, making up for what he didn't get to explore the day before.

When Ginger finally reached John's crotch, he nuzzled his face into the leather, running his nose up and down the prominent bulge he found there. John moaned at that. He watched as Ginger began the process of removing his leather pants. He loosened the belt, zipped open the fly, and then pulled his waistband. John shifted his hips so that Ginger could peel off the last vestiges of his modesty. And then he was completely naked. His cock, hard and leaking, stood proudly on a small patch of dark blond pubes. John didn't miss the tongue swipe Ginger made across his lips. His eyes were hungry and nearly black with pure desire. Finally, after drooling like a dog for what seemed like forever, Ginger tossed aside John's pants and moved.

He shifted on the bed to lie on his belly and settled in between John's open legs. He grabbed John's erection at the base and gave it a few experimental strokes. Then he dipped his head and gave a firm, broad lick along the underside from root to tip. John shuddered in response, and Ginger seemed to feel a surge of encouragement. He licked the pearling liquid off the slit with a happy hum. And with that, he opened his mouth and enveloped him.

John threw his head back on the pillow with a shameless moan. He fucking _loved_ blow jobs. It was one of his top favourite things in the world, right up there with guitars, tits, and monsters. Ginger was a pro at giving head, something John didn't expect him to be. He had always thought Ginger was too masculine for that, but maybe this was Ginger's way of showing John how serious he was about their new relationship. Or perhaps he just wanted to suck his cock. Whatever the reason, John appreciated it all the same.

He lowered his gaze to watch his man work him and saw that Ginger was already looking up at him. His eyes were wild and clouded with lust, and John held that intense gaze as Ginger bobbed his head up and down. That wicked tongue of his slid side to side along the underside of his cock while he worked it deeper into his mouth with each downward motion. A choked groan emitted out of John's throat when Ginger hollowed his cheeks, the slide and pressure of the action prompting John to drop his head back on the pillow.

As Ginger continued to lavish attention on his cock, a finger made its way underneath John's ass, skating behind his balls, ghosting along his perineum, before slipping up to circle his entrance. John held his breath as Ginger slowly eased a finger into him, using the saliva that had dripped down into his crease as lubrication. Because he was more focused on the slide of Ginger's mouth on his cock, John had barely registered the penetration. Ginger was very gentle as he took his time prepping John. The finger inside him moved in and out slowly. After a while, a second joined the first and they continued to move in the same slow rhythm. The process repeated once more when a third finger joined the two, and the sweet burn of the stretch was more delicious than painful.

John writhed and mewled as Ginger started to fuck him with his fingers, pressing them firmly against his inner walls and searching for the spot that would make John scream. And he did. Ginger found it, his prostate, and he focused his attention on massaging the nub. John cried. The dual pleasure of Ginger's hot mouth and pumping fingers was driving him mad with need. He was practically turning into a puddle of aching, pulsating goo.

" _Please_ ," John begged, almost sobbing with the desire to be relieved. "I—I want—"

Then that mouth and those fingers were gone, and John had to bite down on a sob. He watched as Ginger reared off the bed and gracelessly pulled down his leather pants, finally gifting John with the sight of his thick, hard cock. It was a thing of beauty, long and proud with a glistening, bulbous head. John purred his approval and readily opened up for him. Ginger smirked at him, climbed back onto the bed, and knelt between his spread legs. He grabbed the nearest pillow and John knew to lift his hips so that Ginger could place it underneath his bum.

After setting the pillow, Ginger leaned down, and before he lowered his mouth to John's, he whispered to him, "You ready?"

John's breath caught in his throat as he felt the hot, spongy head of Ginger's cock brushing teasingly over his entrance. "Ready," he whispered back.

And with that, Ginger kissed him and pushed forward. John relaxed and pushed against him, sighing when Ginger entered him, and his cock sank inside, inch by pleasurable inch. When he bottomed out, the two took a moment to get used to each other's bodies, exchanging little kisses while they did.

"You feel incredible," Ginger breathed out, centimetres from John's lips. He was shaking with the need to hold himself back from moving too fast, too soon.

"You feel just as incredible," John said back. He shifted his hips, relishing in how full and perfect it felt to have Ginger inside him. He looped his arms around Ginger's neck and whispered, "Move."

Ginger braced his arms on either side of John and moved his hips. It was slow at first, just a roll of hips and gentle rutting. It was sweet and sensual; their bodies synchronized in pure passion. Just as Ginger had done to him earlier, John assaulted him with tiny kisses wherever he could. On his lips, his jaw, even his nose. Kissing Ginger was rapidly becoming one of his favourite things to do.

Their movements gradually grew in pace and intensity until the sounds of their frantic lovemaking filled the hotel room. Hot, breathy moans, skin hitting skin, and the rhythmic squeaking of the bed. It was fucking amazing. Pleasure shot up John's spine with every thrust Ginger made. His toes would curl and breath hitch. Ginger was doing everything right; all the things John wanted in a lover. Someone who could drive all his senses out of whack. Someone who understood and worshiped his body. And Ginger was that someone.

John gasped and arched his neck when a burst of pleasure struck his body. His reaction was all Ginger needed to know that he found his prostate, and he continued to hit that spot over and over again. Little choked-out noises escaped John's throat, fucked out of him by the force of Ginger's thrusts, driving him to claw at Ginger's back for purchase. John's cock, rock hard and leaking pre-come, was slapping up against his stomach between their bodies. Ginger moved his hand to grab it, but John vigorously shook his head at him.

"No, I want to come like this," he said hoarsely.

Ginger groaned at that. "Fuck, John."

"Yes, _fuck me_ , Kenny. Fuck me good. Make me yours," John breathed, and Ginger groaned again.

He buried his head into the crook of John's neck, grunting and growling. John continued to hold Ginger close as his thrusts drove into him, hard and fast, his cock hitting its mark every time. It was getting to the point where John couldn't keep his eyes open and his mouth closed. He could feel the beginnings of an orgasm curling in his stomach, and it looked to him like Ginger was nearing that point as well. Their bodies moved in tandem until John felt the familiar pleasure coalesce in his groin. The pressure built higher and higher until suddenly, he went off like the cork on a wine bottle. Come splashed on both of their stomachs, and the intensity of his climax had his body trembling with the aftershocks of it.

"Fuck!" Ginger groaned as John clamped uncontrollably around his cock, spurring him on, and just a few thrusts later he was coming too, moaning out his release as he emptied himself in John's ass. He turned into jelly afterwards and slumped over John, arms trembling to keep himself from completely collapsing onto him. His head remained nestled in the crook of John's neck, and the pulse of his hot breath was sending chills down his spine.

He buried his hands in Ginger's hair, stroking the silky locks while their breaths caught up with them. "That was perfect," he proclaimed breathily.

Ginger lifted his head so he could look at him properly. His gaze was weighted, and John felt his breath catch in his throat. But then Ginger ran his fingers along the side of John's face, touching damp hair and sliding back to cup his cheek. "Perfect," he agreed.

Relieved, John reached up and pulled Ginger's face down to him, gifting him with a lazy and loving kiss.

Ginger pulled out of John and rolled over to lie on his back next to him, both letting out a sated sigh as they melted into the mattress. John absently gathered up the jizz on his belly with his finger and popped it into his mouth, eating his release. From his peripheral, he could see Ginger staring at him wide-eyed.

"What?" asked John.

"You like eating come," Ginger commented.

John felt hot — and it wasn't because he just had the most mind-blowing sex he'd ever had. "Um, yeah," he said, feeling a little self-conscious.

Ginger just stared at him. He blinked once, twice. Then a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Kinky," he purred. "Remind me next time, and I'll give you a taste of mine."

John moaned unashamedly. He liked the prospect of that very much.

Later, after they could move again, John and Ginger took a shower together, but they didn't do round two in there. Instead, they just held one another under the spray, sharing lazy kisses and happy to be in each other's arms. Perhaps next time.

"So, what now?" Ginger asked sometime after their shower, and John thought that was a bit late and unnecessary for him to bring up. They were standing in front of the large bathroom mirror, both dressed in their pyjamas and getting ready for bed. Ginger looked at John when he didn't answer him right away, frowning.

John made a show of pondering the question, making Ginger frown further, and John just had to smile at that. He reached up and gently touched his face, and Ginger's frown turned into a soft smile.

"Now, we kiss, and then we go to bed," he replied.

Ginger chuckled lightheartedly. "You're such a dork."

John smirked. "But you like it."

Ginger didn't admit it, choosing to kiss John instead, but John knew he did.

After they finished up in the bathroom, the two of them climbed into bed together. Ginger spooned John, and they murmured goodnights to each other as they settled in for sleep. Ginger's words from two nights before echoed through John's head as he slipped into slumber, a smile blanketing his face.

 _All yours_.


End file.
